Cold Nights
by paraspark
Summary: When a certain six year old is grounded, he comes up with the only logical solution to his problem. He runs away. What lies in the darkness of night is not always what it seems. AU. Rated mostly for language.
1. When Darkness Falls

A small, six year old duckling laid in bed underneath the harsh glare of the ceiling of his brothers' room. On any other day, the gentle rocking of his uncle's houseboat would have been relaxing, even soothing, but today was not that day.

Louie pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. The door to his brothers' room was shut, while the circular window against the back wall was wide open. A calm, warm summer breeze swished the curtains, and his brothers' playful laughter echoed from outside. He could hear their uncle's disapproval of whatever game the ducklings had commenced. Donald shouted loud enough that his voice echoed over the marina, which caused Louie to tighten his arms over his chest.

"I _hate_ this," he whined, his pout turning into a scowl. Sitting upright, he looked at the other side of their bed where a blue stuffed dog sat against his older brother's pillow. He reached over and picked the dog up, setting it down on his chest. He traced the edge of a finger along the smooth surface of the dog's glassy, lifeless eyes. "It's not fair that _I_ get into trouble when I didn't even do anything!"

The dog stared back lazily, its head falling to the side.

"Right!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Anger and frustration all but bubbling up from within his chest, Louie loudly sniffled and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's not like I was hurting anyone. I don't get what the big deal is...Do you?"

He stared at the stuffed animal, sniffling again and nodding his head along, as though it was alive and speaking silent comfort. Taking the dog's ear between his fingers, he rubbed the soft fabric with a small smile on his beak.

"Yeah, me too. Uncle Donald worries too much," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced to the open window and lowered his voice further, hoping his uncle wasn't anywhere near his bedroom. "Between you and me, I think he's actually ok with it. If it leaves the store, then it's gotta be free, right?"

The head of his little blue friend nodded and Louie's hand fell back to his chest.

"You get me," he said with a watery smile. "I wish Uncle Donald did too. Then he wouldn't have to worry so much, and then we'd have more stuff for us!"

The toy fell to its side and Louie bristled, outright glaring at it. Giving it a shove, the stuffed dog fell off his chest, landing by his side. "What do you mean I should feel bad?! Why would I be? I didn't take the last one, I never do! Besides, there's always more. There always is when we go shopping. Uncle Donald's just being stupid."

Guilt suddenly washed over him, laying like a heavy blanket over his shoulders. He flicked his eyes back to the ceiling. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Placing the toy back on his chest, he gave it a small, comforting pat.

"Honest," he whispered, hugging the toy to his chest. "I know he's not stupid."

His hands tightened around the familiar, soft material.

"I love him too...it's just, I wanna help."

A strong breeze blew through the open window, and the choking scent of salty beach air and dead fish began permeating his room. Louie's eyes watered and he groaned, pulling the toy closer to his face and over his beak. That same, mingling frustration rose again as his breath got caught in his throat.

"Why do we have to live on a stupid houseboat on the stupid beach?! Nobody at school has to! It's not _fair_ , why can't—"

He paused, looking to the stuffed animal, the bile inducing smell forgotten about. He stared, his brows lowered in concentration as though he were listening to something, his eyes widening a moment later.

"I can't—"

He cut himself off as he thought on the idea his little blue buddy had proposed to him, the thought swirling 'round and 'round his head like a mantra.

A quick, subtle peek to the open window where what sounded like his uncle's chastising voice could be heard, followed by his brothers' whining and a faint "Yes Uncle Donald," hitting his ears.

"I can't just leave!" he whispered, holding the stuffed toy outwards, up and over his head. "Uncle Donald would—"

His beak parted as he blinked in realization. "Wait...if I leave, I wouldn't even see Uncle Donald get mad." With bright eyes and a wild grin on his face, he bolted upright. "I could bring stuff back, too! And I wouldn't even get into trouble for it! This is perfect!" he exclaimed, tossing the toy back onto his brother's blue pillow case.

Giving the toy an apologetic glance, he shrugged his shoulders and laid in a more comfortable position with his hands behind his head. "Sorry buddy, but Dewey needs you more than I do. With me gone, you're gonna have to look out for them, ok?"

He smiled, inclining his head upwards as a plan—albeit a simple one—began to form in his head.

* * *

It had been easy, far too easy, to creep out of bed and tiptoe down the hallway. Passing the kitchen, wearing his green hoodie, he had his eyes set on the front door. He knew every creak, every groan the wooden floorboards made and he sidestepped all of them. He knew the hardest part was yet to come as he made his way through the small houseboat.

The front door and its squeaky hinges.

Failure was not an option with the stakes the highest Louie had ever set them to. He quietly lifted the latch and brought it out of place. While on the tips of his toes, he chanced a peek back down the dark hallway. But not a sound, save for his uncle's light snores and brothers' deep breathing, could be heard. He held his breath as he slowly twisted the knob out of place with a racing heart. With a careful pull, he opened the door, feeling a strong, steady pulse beating in his ears. Mercifully, only the slightest hint of noise escaped the door's hinges.

Louie slipped away. He was in too deep to turn back now, and his mind was already made up. His backpack clipped the edge of the door frame as he stepped outside. He kept going, despite the fact that the idea of someone having potentially heard that terrified him. Yet nothing happened and the door closed behind him with a soft click.

He let out a sigh of relief, his hands trembling as he shifted his backpack into a more comfortable position over his shoulders.

He'd come back and visit his brothers'.

He might even visit his uncle too—whose bitter, enraged voice was all Louie could hear in the back of his head.

But he'd come back at some point to see his family and give them all the little things they were in such desperate need of. Items—whose price tag was so small to the eyes of many—that would never be missed from store shelves. But, Louie remembered as he tiptoed down to the boat's edge, that his Uncle Donald would hold those various miniscule items within his hands, his pinched face hovering over the yellow price tags. While his brothers' raced up and down the aisle, pointing to different things or touching everything, Louie would watch as his uncle debated between two different kinds of soap. He was always the first to notice the way his uncle would scowl, his feathers ruffling, before roughly putting the items away, walking past them without a second glance.

It had been so easy to slide the bottle within his pocket—just as it was easy for him to hop over the side of the boat, his feet landing on the pier below with a dull thump. His uncle's voice scolded him loudly within his own head for what he was doing as he looked back, looking to see if there were lights on or any indications that he'd been caught.

He huffed, tuning out Uncle Donald's furious, indecipherable squawks. It wasn't like his uncle could do anything about it now anyway. He'd left, crossing a major, irreparable boundary that was dumb to begin with. He frowned, all but hearing his uncle's strained, sharp voice warning them to never leave the houseboat without him—and especially to never leave after it was dark.

It was very dark, but Louie only felt a twinge of guilt settle within his gut as he strode along, tightening his hands around the straps of his bag. The stars were shining bright and clear far over his head; however, there was only a sliver of moonlight to guide his path. He walked with ease as he passed the small fishing boats and other houseboats docked to the aging pier. In the distance, the slight orange glow of an old, grimy lamp hung attached to the side of a concrete building. Farther out, as hulking black shadows, were the rusted, decay riddled parts of long dead ships, their frames and pieces making up an abandoned shipyard.

The wooden planks of the pier gave way to rough, cracked cement. Louie took one last glance to the eerily still shipyard, a chill racing up his spine before he continued walking along the sidewalk, letting his hand skim over the chain link fence that bordered it.

He passed the concrete building in silence, unable to fully read the big, bold lettered sign attached beneath the lamp—only the word 'office' was clear to him. He chanced one last peek back to the houseboat, but all was still quiet and dark, save for the gentle lapping of the water against the cement edge.

Louie wasn't sure why he was smiling, or why he took off down the sidewalk in a short burst of energy, nearly laughing as he raced along. His backpack bounced against his back as he pumped his arms, relishing in the cold, summer night breeze that blew through him as if he were paper thin.

The docks and boats passed by in a blur. His shadow fell beneath a few scattered lights before melting within the darkness, blending back in to his surroundings. It was also rather easy for Louie to ignore all the "good voices" in his head as he slowed to a walk to let himself catch his breath. They whispered to him—poking within his mind, trying to make him feel bad, and telling him that what he was doing was wrong. Instead, Louie frowned and held his head up high, choosing to favor the ones in his heart. Those words and voices made a lot more sense. They agreed with him and told him he was right, his uncle wasn't. Louie reached the edge of the sidewalk, a gentle breeze ruffling his head feathers.

The chain link fence turned sharply to his left, revealing a deserted, quiet street in front of him. A lone street light flickered a pasty white light onto the sidewalk's hard surface. His beak quirked upwards in the finality of this—that he was actually _leaving_ the marina behind. Every step he took while crossing the street sent excited chills up and down his arms and back. It left him lightheaded as he moved deeper into Duckburg due to the thrill of disobeying his uncle, coupled with his strong desire to help his family by any means necessary.

And this was necessary.

If living here meant being able to give to his family without the wrath of his uncle, then he was more than willing to do it.

Louie looked around with wide eyes at the tall concrete buildings spanning far ahead on his right side. He couldn't see within the darkened alleys he passed, but a dog barked close by. He heard the rattling of a chain as it snapped to its length, the barks growing deeper and more menacing.

He hurried along, stifling any momentary fear he'd felt. But really, he wasn't all that afraid to walk down the lifeless sidewalk, passing a few more sputtering street lamps.

"Uncle Donald worries too much, there's nothing scary here," he mused, trying to peek into a dark alleyway. But there was no light that penetrated through the darkness within it, so he shrugged and kept moving.

There was no one.

There wasn't a soul in sight as he continued down the path, letting his hand trace along the side of the smooth, gray buildings. He stopped a few times to try and read the bright, colorful words and letters that spanned along the sides of them. But much like the sign back on the marina, he couldn't make out what was written.

He sighed, letting his hand fall away. It was as though he were in some sort of strange, lucid dream. The dog having long silenced its angry barks had left a quiet that was unlike anything he had ever heard before. He peeked back and found that he was just barely able to make out the edge of a few piers, and he could see a neighbor's boat rocking between the dock and the cement edge that separated the rest of the marina from the parking lot.

He could see Uncle Donald's car in its usual spot, still and dark. He blinked, feeling a swell of something he couldn't quite place lump in his throat.

He wasn't sure why he stilled, his heart beating fast and hard within his chest, but a good voice, one that had been particularly nagging within his head, suddenly kicked itself into awareness.

' _What'll happen when everyone wakes up to find you missing?'_

He took one of his arms in his hand and he rubbed it warily, pressing his beak tighter together.

"I can't go back," he whispered, his voice too loud in the stillness. "I only _just_ left. They'll be fine. They have to be."

Turning back around, he pressed on, ignoring the sudden, all consuming guilt that lay in his thoughts for having left no note.

No explanation.

No nothing for his absence.

' _You'll hurt them.'_

He stopped again, hands tightening into fists.

"So what," he muttered, kicking a piece of trash. "I'm gonna come back, it's not like—"

' _You'll crush them.'_

Ceasing his words, he worried his fingers against each other and felt his brows knitting together. He looked back, his eyes on his uncle's car, and he couldn't help but feel torn in an impasse. Staring into the pitch black bay in the far distance, thoughts of his family waking to find him missing sent a small knot of worry down into the pit of his stomach.

' _You'll scare them.'_

They would be upset to say the least, once they realized he was gone. His brothers' would immediately start a frantic manhunt for him. Louie faced the chain link fence on the other side of the street and sat down right in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling harsh, bitter tears begin to slide down his face. Finding him gone would send their uncle into a panic, just like that one time Dewey had seemingly vanished within the houseboat. Louie remembered how upset and frantic Uncle Donald had been, destroying nearly every inch of the place looking for him.

Louie smiled, remembering how furious their uncle had been when he had found Dewey hiding in the dishwasher of all places. He giggled at the memory, remembering his brother poking his head out and yelling "Surprise!" only to be smothered by their uncle's arms a moment later.

He shivered as another cold breeze blew through him.

Yeah...ok maybe he hadn't thought this through, at least not entirely. Locking his eyes on the fence, Louie put his hand to his beak and began to worry. He loved his brothers'—his family, even his uncle, who he was angry with. Definitely. But to _scare them?_

That wasn't his intention, not in the slightest.

Tears began pricking at the corner of his eyes, but he roughly wiped them away.

He'd already made his decision.

Determination refilled his gut and he stood up. Facing the enormous city buildings, he forced himself to move, each brisk step rough against his webbed feet.

He couldn't go back now, not when he'd come this far and had only been gone for less than ten minutes. They'd be fine. They had to be. Besides, he'd come visit.

Although maybe, he reasoned, he'd make an exception and visit his uncle.

But there were going to be rules. New rules put into place, better ones.

Yep, exactly that. His uncle was going to just have to accept that this was his life now. That this was the new way things were going to be. It wasn't like there was anything his uncle could do about it anyway. He'd left. That meant he was free to do whatever he wanted, however he wanted to do it.

His throat was a bit dry.

Seeing a bench nearby, Louie swallowed back the irritation in his throat and made his way over to it. He sat down, ignoring the 'bad' words he could read that were etched sloppily on its hard, wooden surface. He pulled off his backpack, displaying a smug grin as he did so. His careful planning might even rival that of his obsessively organized brother, Huey. He took out a water bottle and drank from it before quickly plopping it down back inside. Closing his backpack, he sat there for a few more moments, swinging his feet and hugging his bag to him, more at peace with his decision to leave. It would rain at some point, so he could fill up his bottle whenever—

But it was summer.

Louie's brows furrowed a little. Didn't the rabbit on TV the other day say they were in for sunny, cloudless days for the whole rest of the week? With his eyes widening like saucers, Louie all but ripped his bag back open and held his water bottle outright. He saw that almost half of its contents were gone.

He bit the tips of his fingers in thought, knowing that people need water to survive...right? So if he did the math on this, with four more days in the rest of the week and having only half of his water left...then...he could make it.

Totally.

He just couldn't drink anymore until...hmm. Louie swung his legs a little more and zipped his pack closed, resting his head on it. He sighed, wishing for Huey right about now.

He'd probably know.

Blinking, his gaze landed on the cracked sidewalk beneath his webbed feet. Not able to touch the ground, his legs stopped swinging. He wondered in a brief, curious moment that if he did go back, would Huey come with him? But, if Huey did come with him, which, he lowered his brows to this, was highly unlikely, then what about Dewey? Obviously they couldn't leave him, so he'd have to come—

That wouldn't work.

And besides, the whole point was so he could...

Louie trembled in the chill, summer night air. The only sound he could hear was that of a crumpled newspaper floating down the street. He slung his backpack over his shoulders with a loud sniffle and hopped off the bench. He could still smell the thick, heavy scent of saltwater in the light breeze as he pulled his hoodie up and over his beak.

He pressed on.

* * *

Louie wasn't sure what time it was. He'd forgotten to check before he'd left. But he'd found that the moon, what sliver there was, had risen high into the sky and was descending past the tall outline of distant skyscrapers. It was dark and gloomy. Silence was his only companion as he kept walking.

His legs and feet hurt.

Rubbing his eyes, he sniffled.

Not that he would ever admit it, but as he crossed another quiet, lifeless street, it was slowly sinking in that he didn't know where he was.

But he wasn't lost! No way! Louie lost? Please. He knew Duckburg just as well as his brothers' did. But...he wasn't exactly sure where he was, as he crossed into what, he guessed, was a new neighborhood with brick buildings that seamlessly flowed together on both sides of the street. That didn't mean he was lost though. Nope, not in the slightest...But maybe he could find a directory or a map somewhere. He remembered passing some of those whenever he and his brothers' went shopping with Uncle Donald.

With his hands deep within his hoodie pocket, he remembered his uncle lifting him up so he could see what they looked like. He rubbed his eyes again, the motion hurting, and he sniffled loudly. His legs were beginning to feel like jelly as he walked along the abandoned sidewalk.

He should have packed two water bottles.

A flash of fear raced up from his stomach into his chest and he sniffled again, rubbing his beak. Stores opened when it was light out and that had to be what, maybe an hour away? Or...He looked to the sky. Huey had said something about being able to tell time by looking at the sky. He frowned and shook his head in irritation. There weren't clocks in the sky. He'd have to confront his brother on that one when he saw him again.

His lower beak trembled, and he roughly wiped at his eyes again, ignoring the wetness there. He didn't know when stores opened, but his water problem was easy to fix. He'd just take what he needed when stores opened. It was as simple as that. And when it rained he could fill the bottles he had. Then he wouldn't have to take more than what was necessary. He nodded his head along to this, feeling his eyelids start to droop. Maybe he could—

He didn't know where he was supposed to sleep in his new home.

Beds didn't exactly exist outside of buildings.

Louie sighed and kept his eyes on the ground. Lost in a memory about his brothers', he was rather startled when a loud, piercing whistle caught his attention. He snapped his head up as he looked at the source of the noise, seeing three people across the street, what looked like two ducks and a cat staring right at him.

He stopped mid-step, caught off guard and wondering why there were people sitting on stairs so late at night. That was weird. Like really, really weird. People should be sleeping right now...and ok...he should be too, but he had a reason for why he was up. They had no reason, at least not to him, to be sitting there and staring oddly at him. Louie stiffened as the three seemed to talk to one another before the two ducks went back inside the building, the door creaking shut behind them.

With his breath caught in his throat, he watched as the cat cocked his head before loudly calling, "Kid, the hell you doin' out so early in the morning? Shouldn't ya be sleepin' or some shit?"

With his words dead in his throat, Louie felt his body tremble as he briskly started walking again, ignoring the calls and voice continuing his way. He knew he shouldn't talk to strangers, especially weird strangers who sat on stairs in the dark. And _especially_ strangers who didn't have a reason to be out of bed in what he now knew was early morning.

He heard quick, heavy footsteps behind him. With his heart in his throat and only a second to process this, Louie suddenly found himself being grabbed by his backpack. The straps of his bag were cutting into his shoulders as he was yanked backwards. The cat quickly spun him around, causing him to almost fall over. And he would have, had the stranger not had a tight hand on top of Louie's bag, nearly lifting the duckling off the ground in the process.

"The fuck ya doin' kid? Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to ignore people when spoken to?"

With terror rooting him to the spot, he peered up at the annoyed face of the adult standing in front of him. The hand around his bag moved to his shoulder and gripped him tightly before giving him a firm shake. "The hell ya walkin' around at three in the mornin' for?"

"Um...I..." Never having had a stranger outright touch him or use those really, _really_ bad words at him had shocked him into near silence. In the presence of this man, this person who glared down at him like he was nothing but dirt on the side of a building, Louie's vision began to grow blurry.

"Ah Christ! _Fuck_ , ok...Just stop! Stop cryin' kid! Jesus, what are you, like ten or something?"

"I'm six," he sobbed in response, the words tumbling out of his beak before he could stop them. His head hurt, on top of his aching legs and feet. The cat's grip increased, his fingers all but digging into Louie's shoulder.

In those moments, Louie had never felt so terrified. His body trembled in the near painful grasp as he stared upwards at the cat with wide eyes.

The stranger, wearing a cold expression and with a raised lip, snorted and stepped back, crossing his arms. He tisked and waved an impassive hand Louie's way. "So then, I gather your folks kicked you out for the night. Is that why you're upset?"

Confused, Louie only cried harder at this, unsure how to respond. He rubbed furiously at his eyes, hearing the cat mutter incoherently under his breath as he did so.

"Alright, this is the deal kid, can't have ya roamin' to God knows where 'round here. So, lucky you, I know a guy who'll house ya for free a charge and everything. Sweet deal right? Right."

A strong hand clamped around his upper arm, which caused Louie, who was still trying to process the cat's fast paced words, to panic all at once. With the words said to him just registering in his head that he was being taken somewhere, he loudly screamed, "NO!"

He tried to yank himself away, but the cat's grip was too strong. A frustrated growl rose in the stranger's throat. "Shut the _hell_ up, you're gonna wake—"

"Let go of me!" he screamed again, his voice rising in pitch. Belated, maybe, but the hardcore stranger danger lessons his Uncle Donald had given all of them were flashing through his mind. He struggled and pulled against the cat's hand, as said individual stared at him as if the duckling was nothing more than a roach that had crawled on his food.

"Oh for Christ's sake," the cat spat with an eye roll, an ear flicking. "I'm not gonna—"

"Let go a the boy, C." A deep, raspy voice met Louie's ears, cutting straight through his panicked state. Pausing, he looked to the voice, and saw a tall dog moving down the sidewalk towards them, back from the way Louie had come. He stilled in the cat's tight grip, not registering the hand removing itself from his arm.

This dog was absolutely the scariest person Louie had ever seen before in all his life. While his other unofficial, maybe not blood related uncle, was a warm, calming presence, this dog was sharp and cold in every move he made. The newcomer's intense gaze never left Louie, and his hands were hidden within an old gray jacket. As he approached, Louie realized that the new stranger smelled weird. The scent reminded him of the skunks that sometimes wandered around Grandma Duck's farm.

The dog moved around them before stopping stiffly in front of him. He glowered down at the young duckling and licked his lower lip. "What's your name boy?"

"Louie," he replied in a voice barely above a whisper, his mind blank. He tried to not be rude as he resisted the urge to cover his beak from the man's harsh scent.

The dog kept staring, his expression remaining neutral. "C, go on now, I got it from here."

Louie heard a sharp, relieved sigh, before the cat replied, "Thanks man. I was gonna come find ya anyway."

Louie heard footsteps move away, but his attention remained on the person looming over him. They stared at each other as the dog pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Louie chose to stay quiet on the fact that those were bad to use.

"What's in your bag?" the dog rasped, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"Nothing," he answered, giving the dog a nasty scowl. "It's none of your business."

The dog narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin a little. Bringing the cigarette up to his lips, he took a long drag and blew the smoke out sharply. "I'm gonna ask ya again boy. What's in your bag?"

Stilling, but staring up in defiance, Louie stomped his foot and puffed out his chest, his face growing red. "You're not my uncle! I don't—"

In one swift motion, the dog firmly grabbed the back of Louie's neck and held him in place, silencing whatever he'd been about to say. He bent down, now eye level with the duckling.

"You are my business," the dog said, his voice firm and barely above a whisper. "When you come outta nowhere in my neighborhood and down my street with about as much sense as a rock, you don't got no place behavin' like you are." His hand tightened significantly, and Louie felt more scared tears slide down his face. Whatever confidence he'd just had vanished as the pressure to the back of his neck increased. It didn't hurt, but it was close. "This is my third and final time asking you this and boy, if I hear any more lip from you, you're not gonna like me very much. So, what's in your bag?"

"Stuff," he croaked.

The dog's face remained unchanged. "What kinda stuff?"

"Clothes."

The stranger stared at him for a moment before letting him go and standing upright, continuing to smoke his cigarette. He snapped his fingers and ordered, "Give it here."

"What—"

A finger was pointed down at him, and the dog's face was hardening significantly. "No lip. Give it here."

Staring in disbelief, Louie didn't know what to do. Sniffling loudly, he shook his head as more tears began, completely blocking his vision.

The dog puffed out smoke and remained unmoved, gazing off to the side. "Ya got one more chance boy, before I take it from you. Now be smart about it."

With a glare, Louie shrugged off his bag and held it outright. The dog took it without a word. He opened the bag and sifted through its contents, keeping the cigarette held between his teeth as ash fell lazily over the backpack. When he was done, the stranger closed it and handed the bag back. Louie stared at him, his eyes narrowed.

"Why did you take my backpack only to give it back?" His brows were furrowed, with the question slipping out of his beak before he could stop it. Honestly, he was way beyond his uncle's training on how to deal with strangers. Uncle Donald hadn't exactly told him what to do in _this_ kind of situation—if he found himself in the dark with someone so scary and authoritative. Or, maybe he had and Louie just hadn't paid attention. Either way, in Louie's mind, his uncle's words of wisdom were void as of this point.

Giving him a level look, the dog chose to ignore the question, instead saying, "You're a runaway. Why'd ya leave home?"

"What's a 'runaway?"

"A kid who thinks they got a good enough reason ta leave home and never return. Now answer my question, why'd ya leave home?"

Louie averted his eyes and shrugged, putting the pack over his shoulders. The dog finished off his smoke and flicked the butt away. He bent down, again eye level with the duckling and said in a softer tone, "Be straight with me boy, you hurt?"

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly, hands worrying over the straps of his backpack.

"Your body," the dog said. Using his hand, he lifted Louie's beak and in a pointed tone clarified, "Are you injured?"

"My legs hurt," Louie answered truthfully as he felt his heart race.

The dog nodded and let his hand fall away. "Anything else?"

"My feet too."

Still crouched, he nodded again and rasped, "Your uncle, he ever yell at you?"

Reminded of the harsh, unfair words his uncle had said to him before banishing him to his bedroom, Louie sniffled, hating the fact that more tears were starting to glide down his face. "He got really mad at me. I was only trying to help, honest! It's just not fair."

"What's not fair?"

"Everything!" Feeling sudden anger rise to the surface, in one explosive motion, Louie balled his hands into fists, before words he hadn't realized were there began pouring out. "I hate sharing everything with my brothers! I hate the stupid bay and the stupid boats and all my uncle's stupid rules! I just wanna live like normal people with normal parents with normal lives!"

Silently listening and having stood upright again, the dog kept his full attention on Louie. His expression remained neutral as he looked back down the dark street.

"Back home, you got a roof over your head?"

Rubbing his eyes again for the millionth time, Louie nodded, not seeing what a roof had anything to do with anything.

"You got food?"

Again, he nodded, staring off to the side with his hands deep within his pocket and his hood up, embarrassed by his sudden outburst.

"You love your family?"

Louie blinked and looked up at the dog, the hard lines of the stranger's face having softened a little. He nodded slowly, watching as the dog reached a hand out and clasped his shoulder.

"I'm going to tell ya this once boy, so listen close. You got an uncle who loves you and brothers who care for ya just the same. Now what do you think your uncle's gonna do when he wakes up to you missing? He's going to get very, _very_ worried. He might even think something bad's happened to you. Now Lou, I don't take you as the kind of kid who'd ever dream of putting that kind a pain on their family. So this is what you're going to do: you're going to go home, go back to bed, and when you wake up, you're going to go talk to your uncle. Tell him what you just told me, and he might just surprise you."

There was a flash of a smile, so brief, that Louie wondered if he'd imagined it. He remained quiet for a few moments, thinking about what was just said. Maybe he could go home. He did miss his bed, albeit shared. He also missed his brothers' and, he grudgingly admitted, his uncle, even if he didn't agree with him on _everything._ But while he was reflecting on the night's events, he was starting to feel rather guilty for all of this. He wasn't sure if he could commit to what the dog had asked of him in regards to speaking to Uncle Donald, but he was exhausted—mentally and physically. The more he thought on it, the more he wanted to go home.

"I don't know where I am."

"Where do you live?"

"The marina. I live on a houseboat," he replied, unsure of the actual address.

The dog put a hand to the top of his head and patted him once. "I'll take ya home, but promise me one thing. Promise me you won't ever run from your problems again, alright?"

Louie nodded without a second thought, beyond relieved at the idea of going home.

"I miss my brothers'...and my uncle," he admitted with a tired yawn.

The dog remained quiet as he guided Louie down a few streets and to a large, all but deserted parking lot, except for a beat up looking car parked to the side.

It beeped once, unlocking, and they stepped inside.

* * *

Pulling up to the first street Louie had crossed, the dog slowed the car to a stop and asked, "This it?"

He nodded and yawned, noticing the darkness of night giving way to the early gray of pre-dawn. "Thanks for bringing me home," he mumbled, his face downcast and eyes glued to his uncle's parked car.

"Lou," the dog said, tone firm. "You remember what we talked about now. When you wake up, you go talk to your uncle. And boy, if you don't think I won't know whether you listened to me, then you're mistaken. I _will_ know, and I will not be happy if you've disobeyed me. You hear?"

With a hand around the door's handle, Louie felt a chill go up his back. "Ok," he whispered, apprehensively looking to the dog's serious expression.

With a nod, the dog waved him off, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it.

Louie was gone, running across the street for home.

The dog, puffing smoke out of his lungs, pulled up a little further so he could watch the duckling run along the sidewalk. Looking past broken down boats and pieces of ships long dead and rusted, he waited for Louie to climb up a small boat and disappear from sight.

Without a second thought, he drove away.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Special shout out and thanks to booklover4816 for beta reading. They've been super awesome and a big help.**

 **The last part will be posted sometime within the next few days. Reviews are always welcome, thanks again for reading!**


	2. Grey Mornings

**Thanks for the reviews, favs, and follows! They mean a lot to me. And thanks to everyone who has read (or is reading) the story!**

 **I loved writing this part, I'm happy to finally be posting it.**

* * *

Donald cracked his eyes open as the first rays of the new day began spilling in through the curtains around his window. He let out a small sigh before he raised himself up with a groan, grimacing in the way his back twinged. Careful to not overstretch the kinks in his shoulders, he yawned and stretched, rising out of bed with a weary rub of his head.

Truth be told, as much as his boys' loved summer and being away from school, he dreaded it, and that would continue as they grew older. School meant they were gone for the majority of the day. School meant free breakfast and lunch. School meant Donald could work whatever odd job he needed to to keep their merry little home from being towed away. Sitters weren't cheap, even the young ones, and they always brought bouts of constant worry within his anxious mind.

After getting out of bed, he opened the curtains, noting, with a huff, the dust that rose into the air. He grumbled as he opened the window, letting the clean morning air filter in through his bedroom. Right. Cleaning day. That needed to happen sooner rather than later. With his body leaning against the wall and his arms hanging outside, Donald went over a mental checklist of what the day would be like.

Coffee.

Breakfast.

Boys up.

More coffee.

Baths.

Shower.

Cleaning.

Yes, today would be cleaning day in the Duck household. He had, admittedly, been putting it off for a bit too long. It had been eye opening when, a few days ago, Dewey had climbed the bookshelf in the living room and came back more gray than white.

Donald frowned. At least the days of his friends coming over were far and few between. He sighed again, thinking if the boys did their part with cleaning, he'd take them to the park later in the day. It was supposed to be nice out and, judging by the cloudless horizon and gentle sea breeze, it was going to be warm, but not too hot. A small smile formed as he watched the day grow just a bit brighter, the sky a light pink in places.

Maybe they would have a picnic.

The boys would like that. He could put a temporary hold on Louie's punishment—just this once. The day was going to be too gorgeous and too nice to waste. And, if he was being honest with himself, he did, to some degree, find Louie's "Robin Hood" behavior to be endearing. The fact that his nephew had wanted to help was bittersweet in his mind. Bitter, for such a young child to understand the hardships of a life in poverty, yet sweet of him to try and take matters into his own hands and ease their troubles.

But—huge "but" here—Louie stealing was something Donald was absolutely _**not**_ going to let fly under his roof.

It had been odd when things that he had no memory of buying started just appearing, like that extra bag of carrots or the brand new box of bandages he knew he'd marked down on his list of things to buy, but had somehow found their way into the cabinet in the bathroom. Chalking it up to too many sleepless nights of worrying over bills and general anxiety, he just assumed that he had a lapse in memory.

It became a little too clear the other day when he'd walked out of the grocery store with his boys' and something had flagged his parent senses. While buckling them into the backseat of his car, he noticed the slight bulge in his youngest nephew's pocket and instantly, he knew why things had started appearing.

Donald lowered his gaze to the water below, his frown returning as he clasped his hands tightly over one another. He had been angry. Far angrier than he should have been—especially in front of them. Reacting on impulse alone, he'd snatched the bag of whatever it was, he couldn't remember what, and demanded an explanation.

A shiver raced up his spine.

Days like those, with threaded migraines and an impulsive longing to throw in the towel and have someone _else_ raise his sister's children, were what lit a match to his gasoline infused skin.

A tired, guilty grumble left his beak as he absentmindedly picked at the scum on the outer rim of his bedroom window.

The humiliation of taking Louie and going back inside to return what had been stolen was something Donald never wanted to experience ever again. People already looked down on him for being a single parent living on a boat with three little kids and no actual job to his name. But adding one of his kids as a thief to the mix? Yeah, that would raise more than a few eyebrows on his, what was assumed, lack of parenting. He didn't need that, and he definitely didn't need the whispers and the ideas running around that he was struggling.

The ones that said maybe he wasn't a fit enough parent.

His eyes hardened. State workers poking their ugly heads around the corner was the last thing he needed. So, he needed to nip this in the bud now and keep the whole plethora of completely avoidable problems away. That was the best possible outcome. Thinking back on it, he only wished that he'd handled it better in regards to Louie's behavior. Yes, he had been harsh, but his youngest dropping an f-bomb hadn't exactly helped the situation. Although, he smirked, that had caught him completely off guard. In any other situation, it would have been funny to him, even though it would have still needed parental correction.

They were running out of soap.

He'd add it to his list.

Placing his head in his hand, Donald groaned. He needed to talk to him. It was obvious Louie was angry and didn't understand the seriousness of what he'd done. Not entirely sure how to go about it, he decided to put a pin in it for now and start his day.

Closing the door to his room with a soft click, he quietly went past his nephews' room and into the kitchen, yawning with his arms stretched over his head. He was maybe halfway through setting up his morning coffee with a filter in his hand, when a small noise grabbed his attention. Whirling around, coffee filter still in hand, Donald grew stiff and scanned the inside of his home. It was a complete surprise to see Louie on the couch, his hoodie on instead of his nightshirt and his backpack half hidden behind the couch.

Donald was lost to say the least as he furrowed his brows and put the filter back on the counter. It looked like his nephew was asleep, so he quietly walked over, folding his arms in the process. Picking up the backpack, he glanced in Louie's direction before taking a few steps back and opening the bag. Much to his surprise, he found clothes and an empty bottle staring back at him. Studying the backpack's contents for a few more moments, Donald blinked and quickly glanced to the door, noticing that it was unlocked.

A familiar, sharp ache jabbed within the side of his head and he forced a puff of air out of his beak. His anger rose to the surface, burning immediately. He ground his beak together as he closed his eyes and turned away, his hands in a death grip around Louie's backpack. He knew that getting angry and releasing his temper on his nephew for doing something so incredibly foolish was bound to backfire. But it hurt. _God_ _damn_ it hurt, like a deep, striking stab wound within his chest and head. He opened his eyes and scowled at his nephew, _his_ _little boy_ , for trying to run away. It hurt worse than he could have possibly imagined, more so than he could ever explain or comprehend. Yet his temper started to be replaced with fear and worry.

This newfound problem absolutely terrified him, and that terror far surpassed any momentary rage he had felt. What boiled within his thoughts, as his hardened eyes locked onto his sound asleep nephew, was that Louie had snuck out of the house not only deliberately, but successfully.

And he was six.

Donald stared at his nephew with a tightly clamped beak—fearing if he so much as relaxed an inch, the jumbled, frantic words and demands for yet another explanation for Louie's behavior would come pouring out. If there was one thing he had learned from raising children, was that violence, anger, and aggressive behavior were not the answer. No, he needed to approach this with a clear head and a better plan of action than shaking his nephew awake and demanding answers. The rims of Louie's eyes were red, as though he'd been crying and rubbing them. Donald felt his heart pound within his chest and his throat go dry.

They were six.

They were living right flush against some of the roughest, most nasty parts of Duckburg. He blinked rapidly, startled as he realized that odd smell coming from the backpack was cigarette smoke. Somehow, despite his shaking hands, he managed to quietly put the bag down on the floor and walk stiffly back to the table, his earlier intentions to make coffee forgotten about. Sitting down, he put a trembling hand to his face and wondered what had happened while he'd been asleep.

He rubbed his head as he wondered how the ever loving fuck a _six year old_ had snuck out of such a small, creaky boat without making so much as a peep. Really, if this had been any other situation, any other instance, Donald would have found it quite impressive that his nephew had not only crept past his brothers' without waking them, but had also opened that damn squeaky door without waking any of them up. He was a very, very light sleeper. Not much got past him.

' _But somehow_ ,' he thought as he glanced to his soundly sleeping nephew, ' _Louie had_.'

That disturbed him more than anything else.

He had tried very hard to keep them away from it—from what was practically right outside their front door. The boys were never allowed to leave the boat without him being there, and when the marina lights flickered on, that meant his boys' were not allowed outside without him as evening drew near. They had always listened, always obeyed his strict rules. Donald's hands tightened around the sides of his head in panic.

How does a guardian—a parent—explain to their child that those loud popping noises aren't, in fact, a car backfiring, but something far worse? Or that the strange person sitting within a dirty alley, with bloodshot, hazy eyes and an odd jitter in their every movement wasn't just tired?

It's impossible.

It broke his heart to know that this was the life the boys will remember as they age. That one day, when another "pop" rings loud and pierces the night, his nephews' will be old enough to understand what it really is. His white lies won't work anymore. The cold truth of it was, that as much as he wished he could give them a better childhood—a safer one—they'll just find it normal to grow still and listen, before resuming their activity as though nothing had happened.

They were six.

How long would it be before he couldn't keep them tied to his safe little houseboat? They were better off confined within the security and protection his four walls and his service issued pistol provided. Yet in that moment, he realized, as his head sunk further into his hands, that he can't keep them like this forever, that he can't be selfish for too much longer.

A few stray tears slid down his face, but he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand. It would be so much easier if they could stay little. But they won't—and they weren't that little anymore. They were still young, but they were growing faster than he could keep up with, he mused as his hard gaze fell on Louie's sleeping form.

Clenching his hands tightly on the table, he began internally kicking himself in the ass for not investing in a better, more childproof lock for his front door. Donald's feathers started ruffling, and he felt that same, familiar unbridled rage build at an alarming rate.

There was going to be hell to pay if he found out some sleazy piece of shit had so much as looked at his nephew. The smell of cigarette smoke having come from Louie's backpack deeply unsettled him. Was it possible someone had talked to him? Stopped him and—

Of course it was possible—anything was. Donald slowly stood and made his way to the kitchen, picking up the coffee filter with shaky fingers. He was going to find out why Louie had run away and figure out what the hell was going on with his youngest nephew—who was six and who, he mused with a guilty stare away from him, was too young to be afraid for his family. Way, way too young to think that he could find something out there that he didn't have here. The thought left Donald rattled as he made his coffee.

He waited until his pot was half drained before setting his mug down and mentally preparing himself for what he needed to do next.

He was calm and collected, though there was a mess of words in his head, and he was unsure of how they were all going to fit together into something that Louie would understand. But, he knew as he walked over to the couch, that he was a lot more in control of himself than he had been the other day. Donald bent down on one knee and started rubbing the top of Louie's head. A small groan was his response, which caused Donald to smile sadly.

"Wake up kiddo," he said, watching as Louie raised his head from his arm pillow. The groggy sleep in his nephew's eyes went away almost instantly as they grew wide. He stared at Donald in shock, seeming to only just realize he'd been sleeping on the couch. There was a moment of awkward silence before Donald stood upright and crossed his arms over his chest. He would give him the chance to be honest and to come clean.

"Why are you sleeping on the couch?"

He tapped his foot as Louie sat upright, looking sheepish as he stared off to the side. Donald's eyes hardened. That was not a good sign.

"I...uh...I...Huey and Dewey were hogging the bed, so I came out here to sleep."

"Uh huh," Donald said suspiciously, arms tightening around his chest. "Why are you in your jacket?"

Louie looked down and saw that yes, indeed, he was still in his hoodie. Donald kept his expression firm as he raised a brow, waiting for a response.

"I was cold," Louie answered, his voice small.

Pointing to the folded blankets on the couch, Donald's brows rose in question and his tone was light despite the irritation he was feeling. "Why didn't you use one of those? It must have been uncomfortable sleeping in a jacket all night long."

"I like my jacket."

Donald poked at his nephew's backpack with a foot. "What's your bag doing out here? I thought you three put them away down below."

"I forgot some—"

"You most certainly did," Donald said, cutting him off, his tone hard as he picked the backpack up off the floor and opened it, peeking inside. "I don't remember you needing extra clothes on your last day of school. Any idea why they're here?"

Donald would have barreled on with more words, harsher ones, had it not been for Louie quietly staring at the floor. Slow tears started falling down his cheeks into his lap, causing Donald to put a stop to what he was doing with a long, low sigh. He let the bag drop with another longer, more tired sounding sigh leaving his beak.

For a brief moment, his grandmother's voice rang loud and clear in his ears, her firm, chastising tone bringing a small, sad smile to his lips. Taking cues from the saint of a woman who had all but raised him, he knelt in front of Louie, cupping the sides of his head in his hands. With firm, tough love, he kept his voice even, ignoring the tears that fell over his hands. "I'm not mad at you, Louis, but I am disappointed in you. You know better than to run away."

His nephew looked up in shock, his small hands tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. He seemed to be thinking about something, his brow furrowed as he concentrated. Donald was patient as he waited.

"I'm not mad at you," he repeated, thumbing the sides of his nephew's cheeks, wiping the tears away.

"It's not fair," his youngest sobbed, tears flowing down his face.

Donald mulled over his next words and actions carefully as he sat next to his nephew. "What's not fair?"

"Everything!" Louie cried, his face contorting into one of anger. He yanked the hood up over his head and loudly sniffled.

"That's pretty broad, kiddo," Donald mumbled. But he pulled Louie up onto his lap and hugged him to his chest, doing his best to ignore the sobs and muffled wails soaking through his shirt. Rubbing firm, soothing circles into his nephew's back, Donald held him close and made soft humming noises. Despite the whirlwind of negative emotions brewing an ugly storm in his gut, he put a mental cap over it, doing his best to be better than that.

To be a better parent, one who didn't scream at their child and drag them back into a grocery store, fuming and enraged while they humiliated both of themselves.

Louie had his head buried as he clutched Donald's shirt. "I missed you," he whispered, his voice barely coherent. "And Huey and Dewey. I got lost."

Trying to not let his concern and anxiety take over, Donald sighed heavily. He noted a small bit of movement at the edge of the hallway, spotting two ducklings peeking not so subtly around it. From over Louie's head, he glared firmly at the two small, concerned faces and pointed at their room, telling them silently that they needed to go back to it.

Huey took Dewey's hand and guided him away. Donald waited for the sound of the door to close before saying, "That must have been pretty scary. How did you find your way home?"

There was a long bout of silence, in which his nephew's sniffles were the only indication he hadn't fallen back asleep.

"I found it by accident."

Donald nodded his head, not believing him in the slightest, but he didn't press the issue. "That was a good accident, then," he said in a gentle tone. "Did you leave because you were mad at me?"

He felt the head to his chest press harder as Louie tensed, remaining quiet. The answer to his question obvious. Donald hummed in thought and said, "I understand you don't agree with why I punished you, but what you did, both then and now, was wrong. Do you understand why I was mad that you stole something?"

Louie shook his head.

"I was mad at you because I know that you know better than to take something that isn't yours. You are right though, on one thing."

Donald more so felt his nephew's shock, his stunned, tear lined face peeking upwards. "I am?"

"Mmhm," he agreed, rubbing the top of the small head on his chest. "It's not fair. It's absolutely not fair that we work so hard and earn so little. But kiddo, that does not give you, me, or anyone else the right to _take_ what we think is ours. We don't steal—we earn, even if we feel it's not enough."

He paused, a small scowl forming, but he pushed it away, instead choosing to hold his nephew just a bit tighter. "It's a much better and far more rewarding life to earn rather than to cheat, lie, and steal your way through it. Those are bad things that bad people do."

"I don't wanna be bad," Louie said in a muffled voice. "I just wanna help. It's not fair everyone else has stuff we don't."

"I know you want to help, but I don't want you too—not like that."

Donald held Louie a little more upright so he could directly face him. Smiling faintly, he added, "There will be many, many people you will meet who will have more than you or me, or more than your friends." With a slight scowl, he muttered, "Or more than the entire neighborhood..."

Louie was starting to look a tad lost, so Donald waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind. What I'm telling you is that there will always be people who will have more than us. It's just a part of life. But, there's something a lot of people don't have that we do. Can you guess what that is?"

With a sniffle, Louie rested his head against Donald's chest again. "A houseboat?"

"Yeah," he agreed with a smirk. "I don't know many people who actively choose to live on a boat. But what else?"

There was more silence as Louie thought. Donald remained patient, continuing to rub the top of his nephew's head.

"I have brothers." The realization in Louie's small voice almost brought tears to Donald's eyes and he nodded, his nephew continuing. "At school, some of my friends don't have brothers. They have sisters...or no one at all."

"Mmhm, and what does that mean to you, having brothers?"

There was a small scoff and Donald held back a snicker. "I love my brothers! They mean everything to me."

"And I love you boys, and that makes us a family." He frowned and hugged Louie tighter to his chest. "There's a lot of people who don't value their families. But—"

"But we do!" Louie exclaimed with a small gasp. He suddenly lifted his head up, his hood falling back to reveal a bright smile. "No matter what, we love each other." A sour look appeared on his youngest nephew's face before the duckling loudly stated, "Even if _some_ brothers hog all the covers."

There was a moment of silence before an even louder and overly exaggerated, "At least I don't kick people to death!" echoed down the hallway from the boys' room.

Seeing the retort about to come out of Louie's beak, Donald rolled his eyes and put a firm hand overtop his nephew's head. "Anyway, do you see what I'm saying? Families are very important—far more than any material object you could ever find. It doesn't matter if we don't have everything, we already have enough. We have each other, and that's what counts."

Nodding his head in understanding, Louie smiled and relaxed into Donald's hold. "Yeah...ok I get it, and I'm sorry I stole stuff. I won't do it ever again."

"I know you won't. You boys are good kids— _you're_ a good kid Louie. And you know, I meant what I said, I'm not mad at you for running away. I understand why you did it, but that's not how you handle your problems."

His nephew became rather sullen and turned his head to the side, his gaze fixed on the far wall. Smiling a little, Donald added, "But I'm so, so very grateful you came home."

"Me too. It's cold at night."

Donald stiffened, arms wrapped more protectively around him. But Louie wiggled against his tight embrace. Donald snorted as he let his youngest climb off of his chest and settle against his side. He wrapped an arm around him and glanced down, keeping his expression tightly controlled.

"You know," he said, his voice lowering. "I can't let this slide. I'm adding two more weeks to your original punishment."

If misery had a face, then it would have been staring right back at him. Louie's eyes widened with horror and realization. But he sighed and nodded, wiping at his tired, bloodshot eyes. "I promise I won't do it again Uncle Donald. So, can't we talk it over?"

"No. You left home without my knowledge or consent— _at_ _night_. I have told you boys countless times that you are not allowed to set foot off this boat unless I am with you, especially not at night," he said sternly, doing his best to taper down the bubbling anxiety within his chest. He took a moment to breathe deeply, closing his eyes as he thought about how to phrase his words. With his face hardening, he glanced down at the small duckling and settled on saying, "You broke two of my biggest rules."

Donald leaned far back into the couch, tightening his arm around his nephew. "You walked out of the house after dark," he continued, counting on his fingers. "And you left the boat without me. So no, there's no room for discussion on this."

Louie remained quiet for some time, and Donald did the same before his nephew pulled away from him and laid down at the other end of the couch, the hood of his sweatshirt back over his head.

"M'sorry Unca' Donald. I won't do it again."

"I know you are," he replied, patting his nephew's side before standing up. "And I know you won't. Now, go back to bed and get some sleep. I'll come talk to you later. We still have a lot to discuss, alright kiddo?"

Louie nodded and left. He heard two pairs of hurried feet scrambling back down the hallway as his youngest started making his way to the boys bedroom. Donald rolled his eyes but let it be, hearing the door to their bedroom and the bathroom simultaneously closing.

He rubbed a hand over his face and brought it up past his forehead, brushing the short feathers there back. The need to find out exact details of what had happened, where Louie had been, and who he had been with circled within Donald's thoughts like a dog chasing its own tail.

As he opened the fridge and started to make breakfast, he heard the bathroom sink shut off, followed by one set of feet all but thundering their way down the hallway, with a slower, much quieter set slightly behind.

There wasn't any time to contemplate what had actually happened with Louie while he'd been asleep. It would just have to wait. But he continued to worry as he made breakfast and sat at the table, only half listening to his other two nephews bicker and poke at one another.

His eyes roamed to the back of the houseboat, down the small hallway to his boys' bedroom, and he sighed in earnest.

Cleaning day, as well as that picnic, would have to wait.

He took another bite of food, pointing his fork in warning in Dewey's direction mid bite, as the middle triplet decided to pick up a sausage and aimed it directly at Huey with serious intent. Donald waited with a scowl for Dewey to drop it back onto his plate, before glancing back down the hallway.

It didn't matter that the curtains were grey, they could be dusted another time. There would be plenty of beautiful days for picnics this year and the next and for many years to come. What mattered more to Donald than the sickening fear of an unexpected knock on his door or seeing his latest bank statement in glaring red, was laying fast asleep in his nephews' bedroom.

Louie was six, and that frightened him more than any social worker or overdrawn bank account ever could.

But, he would figure out how to help him, like he always did for all of them. It would continue to be a burden he carried alone. But he knew he could do it.

He had to.

* * *

 **I'd like to again sincerely thank anyone who read, reviewed, faved, and followed! I'll be posting more stories about this AU I'm currently working on sometime in the future.**

 **Reviews are always welcome!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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